


A Little Life

by emmaliza



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, I have no idea how to tag, Long Lost/Secret Relatives, canonverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-28
Updated: 2013-02-28
Packaged: 2017-12-03 21:52:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/703018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmaliza/pseuds/emmaliza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He did not recognise her at first. At first he did not see her at all, only that Marius was distracted by something. Then as he followed the other man's gaze, he found her across the street. He thought nothing of it (other than its possible impact on the revolution), until he examined her appearance more closely. Her golden curls mimicked his, and their eyes twinkled in the same shade of pale blue. There was an altercation, and from a distance Enjolras could have sworn he heard the name <i>Cosette</i> spoken - though it had been years since he saw those letters, he had committed that name to memory." Based on a kink meme prompt - Cosette is Enjolras's half-sister.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Life

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the following prompt: " Cosette is Enjolras' half-sister.
> 
> His father was the one who slept with Fantine and then buggered off to be with his wife. When Enjolras found out his father was all "She was just a lower class slut/I couldn't marry someone like that etc etc". This disgusted him and was one of the things that set Enjolras off on trying to change France for the better.
> 
> Then one day he sees her- and knows its her- (maybe they both got blond hair/their eyes etc from their father?) and now doesn't know what to do.
> 
> All he does know is that Marius better stop singing about his precious sister now."

Enjolras is, as are many of the men he knows, a man with no last name.

For when he was twelve years and nine months, he found three letters buried in the attic full of useless junk and trinkets. They were written in the careful, detached hand of a person being dictated to; in fact they came written in different hands, suggesting whoever wrote these letters was being forced from place to place. In them it spoke of an affair, of a child, and contained desperate pleas for help for this child. They were addressed to his father, and Enjolras read of the abandonment and betrayal. Eventually these letters spoke of leaving the child - an infant girl named Euphrasie, also known as Cosette ( _little thing_ ) in the care of an innkeeper man and his wife, but with no names nor address to this couple. Enjolras searched high and low for another letter, but found none.

He confronted his father. Felix Tholomyes pleaded his helplessness; that an illegitimate lovechild of his with a woman of the lower classes would bring incomprehensible scandal upon their family, and that he could not jeopardise his loved ones - _especially not you; what about you, my boy?_. And then he claimed this woman, Fantine as she signed her name; that she was nothing but trash, a gold digger, a whore (he actually had the nerve to call _her_ a whore). That he couldn't believe she really was with child; that it was all a con to gain his money, and she had seduced him for this very purpose.

In this moment, Enjolras realised how very very wrong the world was. The cruelty and trickery inherent in the bourgeouis class to which he was born. He knew, with no information but their names, he had no chance of doing anything for the woman and child his father had so grievously wronged. But he vowed he would do whatever possible to prevent one more person falling to the same fate.

-

He did not recognise her at first. At first he did not see her at all, only that Marius was distracted by something. Then as he followed the other man's gaze, he found her across the street. He thought nothing of it (other than its possible impact on the revolution), until he examined her appearance more closely. Her golden curls mimicked his, and their eyes twinkled in the same shade of pale blue. There was an altercation, and from a distance Enjolras could have sworn he heard the name _Cosette_ spoken - though it had been years since he saw those letters, he had committed that name to memory.

But he pushed the incident aside. For even if she were the fabled Cosette, he had no time for it now. Not with the revolution so close at hand. He was still fighting so that the upper classes would not abandon the poor of France as his father had done to her; there would be time for personal reunions later. His little life, his little family, meant nothing in the grand scheme of things.

This would have been the situation if not for Marius. Marius, who insisted on complicating matters by developing an infatuation with this girl which even Jehan, the romantic poet amongst them, found somewhat ridiculous. And then Enjolras was left with the duty of redirecting Marius's attention from this fleeting fancy back to the cause, whilst having to prevent himself from being ensnared in the idea of this girl also. And while it was unfair on Marius, who had been friend to him for years, he could not help but fear he would be just another spoiled rich boy, who would take advantage of such a girl then leave her. Enjolras knew it was nothing more than paranoia, that Marius was not such a man, and yet he still felt the urge to stop it happening. And perhaps underneath it all was a stroke of jealousy - that Enjolras, who was of her blood, could not even acknowledge her - whereas Marius, who shared nothing more than a fleeting glance with her, would allow her to consume his life.

And nothing he said seemed to have any impact upon Marius, and it is a few days until he feels like he can rely on the man to stand with them again. But then the moment is upon them and there is no time for thought of anything else.

-

The barricade did not go as planned. The people did not rise, and they fought valiantly, but the spirit slowly dwindled and died. It is not something that can be blamed on any person, it was simply... Enjolras must have been wrong.

Enjolras grew resigned to the fact he would die here. It was never particularly unlikely, and he was not frightened of it; he only hoped their sacrifice will inspire further rebellion in years to come. There is no shame in being a matyr. The old truth: it is sweet and honourable to die for one's country.

He tried not to spend his last days filled with personal regrets, and yet when he found himself surrounded by a regiment of soldiers, it was difficult not to. Grantaire was there with him, and Enjolras took his hand - he could not pretend to understand his relationship with the other man, but he was thankful not to be alone.

And in those final moments, he did think of that girl - his sister, who may or may not be have been there, who may or may not have been real. Perhaps it is fitting he never knew. After all he relinquished his right to personal victories: so that others might unite and reunite in a world unlike his.


End file.
